


Whosoever Shall Offend

by icarus_chained



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Gen, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Imprisonment, Partnership, Protectiveness, Rescue, Team, Team as Family, Telepathic Bond, Torture, Vengeful Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-16 19:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7282429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarus_chained/pseuds/icarus_chained
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team rescues a captured Jax and Martin from imprisonment and torture. They're almost too late for Martin. Absolutely <i>none</i> of them take that well. Jax and Rip least of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An extremely trope-filled hurt/comfort id-fic about the post-finale team banding together around a battered Firestorm. Fair warning, y'all.

They found Jax first. On the one hand, that was ... logistically fortunate. As they found out shortly afterwards, getting Jax to Martin was considerably easier than getting Martin to Jax would have been, and given that Mick and Sara's distraction had stopped exploding a few minutes ago, they didn't exactly have a lot of time. So. Logistically fortunate, yes. But.

"Get me out of here," Jax was saying, over and over again while Ray shrank down to deal with the lock on the cell door. His hands were knotted around the bars of the little window, so hard and so tight they'd paled, and his voice was a low, seething mix of panic and desperation and violent, roiling fury. "Ray, man, hurry up and get me out of here. We gotta go get Grey. We gotta get him _now_. He's fading, you gotta hurry up."

Ray didn't answer that. Probably wisely, Rip thought distantly, while he kept watch on the corridor behind them. It wasn't the sort of terror you could answer anyway, and better to focus on getting the job done. The faster Jax was out of there, the faster they could get moving, the faster they could find ...

The faster they could find Martin. Whatever turned out to be left of him.

It shouldn't have been like this, he thought emptily, as the lock finally clicked open and Jax almost killed an unshrinking Ray as he shoved it open and scrambled out from behind it, taking off at a dead run down the corridor. Rip caught Ray and steadied him automatically, managing to steer him around in the right direction before they both pelted after their less-than-cautious teammate. It shouldn't have happened like this. For god's sake, Martin needed to stop getting _caught_ by people. He needed to stop wandering into areas where that might happen. But Firestorm should have been enough to protect him. Someone had known to prevent it. Rip didn't know _how_ , he didn't even know who, but they'd known enough to take Jax too, and they'd know enough to keep them separate as well. They'd known enough to ... to leave the partners with no options for escape.

"Grey!" Jax yelled, skidding to a stop ahead of them, homing in and scrabbling at another cell door. Another equally _locked_ cell door, but he didn't really seem to be paying attention to that. Ray didn't even hesitate. Half a glance at Rip, who managed to focus enough to nod and swing to guard their backs, and the Atom was already shrinking as he dived forwards towards the lock. This one wouldn't take as long. He'd have learned from the last one. This door wouldn't take nearly so long to open.

Ray had the sense to stay shrunken and inside the lock until after Jax had wrenched it open this time. He emerged on Rip's side of it, too, at least half out of hesitation, a fear of what they might find in there. Rip rather shared that hesitation. He had a small advantage, however. The Atom suit was their best chance of moving Martin if he was too injured to walk. That meant Ray had to go in there, and Rip was perforce their outside guard.

Lucky him, he thought, pressing his back to the wall beside the door, chancing a glance inside as Ray hesitantly stepped into the cell. He didn't really have to see Martin to know the extent of his injuries, though. Jax's blind terror was enough of an illustration of his condition in and of itself.

From what he did see, however ... there was a chance they were too late for even the Atom suit to make all that much of a difference. The wetness in Martin's breathing, it sounded like he might be past the point of being able to be moved without it killing him.

"Grey," Jax growled fiercely, on his knees on the floor beside him, his hands on Martin's face. "Grey, come on. Don't do this to me. You have to stop doing this to me. You gotta get back here, Grey. We're getting out of here. You gotta come _back_. You hear me? You gotta come back right now."

"... _Jax_ ," Ray whispered, his voice half crushed in horror. "Jax, I don't know if he ..."

"He isn't gone," Jax interrupted viciously. Looking up at him, looking furiously over his shoulder at Ray and Rip hovering behind him. Rip glanced away almost immediately. He put his focus back on the corridors around them, on keeping ... on keeping what was left of them safe. Jax ignored that. Turned his attention back on Ray. "I'm not just saying that. He's not gone. He ain't even unconscious. He's doing this _on purpose_. He's locked himself up in there. He's just ... He's doing this on purpose."

Rip blinked at that, glanced back inside the cell. Ray looked over at him, caught his eye. From the expression on his face, Rip could tell Ray didn't quite believe that, could tell the scientist was afraid that Jax was ... rather strongly in denial. But there was ... there'd been a note to Jax's voice. Not a despair, not denial, but _anger_. Rich, ripe fury, frustration, and a thread of vicious, desperate admiration. That wasn't right for just denial. Rip ... Rip was half inclined to believe him. Even if only out of hope.

"They knew we were linked," Jax went on, low and stumbling a bit while he looked back down at Martin, brought his hands back to his face and started stroking gently at it again. Trying to wake Martin up, trying to steer around the bruises. "Don't ask me how, I don't know, but they knew. They knew they could hurt both of us with just one of us. He made them think it was all one way. He caught it first, he caught on faster than me. He made them think they had to hurt him to hurt me, not the other way around. And then he _went away_. I don't even know what he did, but he ... he pulled himself out of my head. Not out of my head. He couldn't, he still can't. I could feel everything they did to him. But he made himself ... far away. An' he ain't back yet. He stopped coming back. He's not gone, he ain't dying, he's just being _stubborn_."

... _And_ dying, Rip couldn't help but think, and rather hated himself for it less than a second later. But, still. Martin was being stubborn _and_ he was dying. And there mightn't be all that much that they could do about it. Just from the sound of those lungs, carrying him out of here was as likely to kill him as not. He wasn't ... It might not be a kindness to bring him back to feel that properly. But Rip wasn't going to say that. Some things weren't ...

At this moment in time, an unkindness to Jax was going to last a great deal longer than one to Martin. And yes, Rip was fully aware that that was a terrible calculation for someone to find themselves able to make. Call him a bastard for it. He'd even agree.

But Jax wasn't quite mindlessly desperate. His next words demonstrated that. There was in fact a method to his madness.

"Listen to me, you stupid old man," he growled again, cupping Martin's face gently in his hands for contrast with the anger in his voice. "I know you're in there, Grey. I _know_ you can hear me. Rip is here, Rip and Ray, and I'm guessing those alarms and those explosions a few minutes ago were the rest of the team as well. Okay? So you gotta stop hiding now. I need you up here. We gotta get out of here, right now, and I need you to come back enough to merge with me for that. You're hurt too bad to move any other way, and I am _not_ leaving you here. I know you're listening to me, I know you can feel me. You listen to that. You _feel_ that. I'm not moving one inch from this spot unless you're with me. So get the hell back up here, Grey, so we can get the hell out of this place!"

Rip held his breath for an answer. He wasn't looking at the corridor, he wasn't paying attention, and he knew he should be. He knew it. Fine lot of good it would do them if Martin woke back up in time to watch them all be captured again. But he needed ... he so desperately needed to see some sign of an answer to that. Some ... some hope. Ray wasn't any better. They _needed_ to see some sign that Martin lived, that they might still have a chance to get him out of here.

For one long, endless moment, it didn't come. Jax curved his body down over Martin's, his hands helplessly tight around Martin's bloodied head, and for a terrible, terrible moment, absolutely nothing happened. 

And then. Then a hitch in breathing that could ill afford it, a ragged, bloody cough from an abused chest, and Martin managed to stir the fingers of one hand to clutch vaguely at Jax's leg. Managed to breathe out: "J-- Jeff--" Not even a word. Not even most of one. But good enough. _More_ than good enough. For just about any of them.

"Hell yes," Jax whispered, with a fierce, helpless delight in it. There was a grin on his face, Rip thought. He couldn't see it, Jax was bowed too low over Martin, but he could hear it. "We're gonna have a talk about this later, Grey. You and me, we are gonna _talk_ about this. Right now I just need you to focus. Okay? I gotta get you to Gideon, get this fixed up. Don't move, don't do anything. You're in too bad a shape for that. Just think about Firestorm, Grey. Don't worry about anything. I've got you. We're getting out of here. They didn't do anything to me, you made sure of that. I'm okay. You just gotta let me carry you."

Rip half expected a grumble at that. A little snipe, a snappy burst of sarcasm. Martin wasn't much for overwrought emotionality. But he was ... He hadn't breath to snipe at anyone. It didn't come, of course it didn't. Maybe he'd managed to think it at Jax, at least. While they merged. While Martin took a desperate, rattling breath, and faded into the touch of Jax's hands on his face. Jax hunched over to take him in. Jax curled forward, long after Martin had already disappeared inside him and the fire had emerged in his stead, curling his now-empty hands back and tucking them in against his chest.

Protecting, Rip thought vaguely. Curling over, trying to protect the man inside of him. Gathering Martin up and holding him safely inside his chest. Ray half reached out to try and protect him in his turn. Ray reached out as though to guide Jax gently to his feet.

Jax raised his head first. Slowly, _dangerously_ , and Ray's hands froze half way to his shoulders. He glanced at Rip, leaned abruptly and carefully back away from the kneeling figure. Jax turned his head to look at them. Normally Firestorm wasn't that intimidating. Even with the white eyes, the fire burning around them. It didn't normally intimidate, at least not the team, because they knew it was _Jax_ , it was Jax and it was Martin, and neither of them would ever hurt anyone unnecessarily. Of all people on the team to be afraid of, Firestorm usually wasn't the first.

He was now. And it was _he_ , Rip thought. He, not they. This was all Jax. That roiling, seething fury that had been there when they'd reached his cell, that hatred for what he'd felt being done to his partner, and now he had the fire to do something about it. Now he had a weapon, now he _was_ a weapon. These people had known enough to keep the partners apart, to use them to hurt each other. Right now, Rip could see, Jax would be more than happy to show them everything _else_ they should have known as well.

Which was ... understandable, entirely understandable, but Rip wasn't sure how much one of them being _beaten half to death_ before a merge would affect Firestorm in the long run, and right now all he wanted to do was get them out of here, get them somewhere safe, and see how much damage had actually been done to Martin. See how much ... how much hope they had of fixing it. Vengeance, while extremely understandable, really could not afford to be their first priority right now.

Of course, knowing that and then _saying_ it, to an extraordinarily furious walking nuclear inferno, were two very, very different things.

But then ... then it looked like he mightn't have to. Jax's face twisted, pain and fury and incredulity, all of them pointed inwards, and Rip understood that Martin had indeed woken up, enough to be his usually annoying self again. At least inside Firestorm's head, anyway. Jax's face twisted, his hands balled up into fists, and he thumped them angrily against the ground.

"Fuck's sake, Grey, you know what they did to you! You give me one good reason-- I was gonna wait until they were outside! It's not like I was gonna fry the place with them _in_ it-- Grey, we are _not_ just gonna walk out of here and let them-- All _right!_. All right, okay. Just ... I got it. Okay."

He closed his eyes, twisted his head so he wasn't looking at anyone, and just breathed for a second. Just drew in one breath, two, ten, until his shoulders eased down a notch and his hands uncurled from their fists. Rip swallowed faintly, looked over at Ray and the wide-eyed, rueful grimace on his face. 

"... Well, at least he was going to wait until we got out first?" the scientist offered, sotto voce. "That's, you know. That was nice of him?"

"Please don't," Jax sighed tiredly back at them. "I'm not able, okay? I'm not arguing with you two on top of Grey. Just ..." He shook his head, levered himself carefully to his feet. Rip moved towards him instinctively, Ray only half a step behind him, the both of them looking Jax over carefully as he stood. Checking. Making sure none of Martin's injuries had carried over. Jax looked at both of them tiredly for it. "Tell me which way is out," he said. "Tell me which way's the ship, and let's just get going."

Rip squinted cautiously at him. "Well, we do have to ... get back through most of the block," he said carefully. "There'll be security patrols now. Mick and Sara should have retreated back to the ship already, which means most of them will be coming our way. If we can get back to the maintenance corridors ..."

"No," Jax said, very quietly. Rip faltered to a halt, wary and alarmed, and Jax silently raised one burning hand. Pointed it at the closest wall. Burned ... not burned. _Melted_ a head-sized hole silently and gently through it. Ray made a tiny noise. Only tiny. Barely audible at all. 

"I don't mean corridors," Jax carried on gently. "We're not taking corridors. Which _way_ is the ship? Me and Grey ain't staying a second longer in this hell hole than we have to."

Rip ... nodded rapidly. He didn't see that he had very much choice. Ray moved to his side, nudged his hip gently and held out an arm towards him. "I'll carry you," the scientist said softly. "Let him go ahead, fly ahead, and I'll carry you. Anything comes behind us, you can shoot it. Anything ahead of us ..."

Anything ahead of them would end up on the business end of Firestorm's bottled hatred. But. Honestly, that was fair enough. That was more than happily deserved, all things considered. Rip nodded again, this time more decisively. Fair enough. Let's go with the plan. 

"That way," he said, pointing behind them and to the left. "As far as I remember from the blueprints, at least. We may have gotten turned around a bit. Though I suppose if we go up first we can orientate fairly quickly once we're outside."

Jax peeled his lips back from his teeth, not even remotely a smile, and put on a burst of flame to take him up to the ceiling of the cell. "Up and out it is," he said savagely, and brought his hands up to sear a hole through metal and concrete big enough to a fly a jumpship through. 

Behind him, holding on to Ray, Rip took another half a second to desperately, desperately hope that Martin would come out of this okay. 

Because if he didn't, Rip wasn't sure what sort of Jefferson Jackson they'd have left afterwards.

\---

It was ... fixable. Most of it, more or less. They got Martin aboard the Waverider, with only some minor inconvenience from a guard tower that had shortly afterwards ended the night as an extra in Dante's Inferno. They got him in, got the ship almost instantly out of range, Sara ready and waiting to fly them out. They got him to the medical bay, to Gideon. And it was ... mostly fixable. The ribs, the lungs, they were the primary concerns, but the spine ... there was also damage to the spine. And to the kidneys. Several lacerations. A fantastic amount of shattering to the left leg. It was ... it was doable, of course. It was just ... going to take a lot of time, and a lot of work, even for Gideon.

He'd almost prefer to take off and regrow the leg, Rip thought distantly. It might be more efficient, with the amount of shattered splinters floating around in there to be fused back together. There was no chance on the _planet_ that he was going to say that out loud, though. Jax ... Jax wasn't doing well. Now that they were out, now that it was just the aftermath. Jax wasn't doing well at all.

He hadn't wanted to let Martin go. Hadn't wanted to let him back out, pour him back into his own battered and bleeding body. He'd wanted to keep Martin inside him, keep him safe, keep him unhurt. It had taken every scrap of Gideon's calm, cool reassurance and, Rip thought, some manner of persuasion from Martin himself, before Jax could be convinced to lean down across the medical bed and let his partner bleed back out into the land of the more-or-less living.

Martin had almost crashed immediately on arrival. The shock of it, the trauma of physically reforming into a badly broken body. He'd breathed in a broken scream, lost control of his lungs, and almost immediately started to seize. Ray and Gideon had lurched immediately into panicked action. Mick, who Rip hadn't even noticed arriving, had grabbed Jax by the back of the neck and hauled him unceremoniously out of their way. He'd a fight out of it. Fortunately Jax couldn't fry him out of instinct any longer. Not that Rip was sure Mick would have cared. He all but picked the kid up and shoved him back against a wall, pinning him there until Gideon had guided Ray through getting apparatus in to get Martin's breathing back under control. Jax went limp at almost exactly the same moment Martin did. He slumped down, dropped all his weight onto Mick, just as soon as Martin was confirmed unconscious.

Mick picked him up without a word. Scooped him up into his arms, held him while Jax curled in and started shaking against him, and cocked one eyebrow at Rip to get him to follow as Mick carried the kid out of there. Rip hesitated a second, glancing over at Ray and Martin, but Sara glided past him, another presence he hadn't noticed until she was already there, and nodded that she'd help them if he helped Mick. Helped Jax.

Rip had no idea how exactly he was supposed to _manage_ that, but he supposed he couldn't be any more useless there than he was here. Gideon would need Ray more than him, if any internal damage needed to be physically intervened against. And Jax would need someone who already knew what was going on.

So, after a second, Rip nodded back, and moved to follow Mick Rory out of the room.

They found their way up to the bridge. For no better reason than habit, maybe, instinct and autopilot, and Mick steered his way into Rip's office and over to an armchair. He didn't exactly drop Jax into it. He was gentler than that, leaning down to brace himself against the arm with one hand and ease Jax down with the other arm. He stood back up afterwards, moved back a bit to give Jax space, and Jax scrunched in onto himself immediately, brought both hands up and pressed them desperately against his face. Mick didn't say anything. He looked over at Rip pointedly, glared at him until Rip managed to drift his way inside the room, and he didn't say anything. He let Jax settle for a minute. Rip, more than a little lost, just followed his lead.

"... He can't keep doing this to me," Jax managed at last. Sitting up a bit, breathing raggedly but raising his head out of his hands. He looked between them blearily, eyes red and terrified and furious still. "He's got to stop this. I can't keep feeling him get hurt. He's gotta stop getting himself into this kinda shit!"

And Rip would argue, but honestly he'd had pretty much the same thought already.

"Don't think he planned on it, kid," Mick offered gruffly after a minute. "Man just has shitty luck, that's all. Could stand to be a bit more careful, but it ain't like he plans on this kinda thing."

If it had been meant to be reassuring, it didn't work. Jax surged to his feet, stalking forward a couple of steps in stiff, furious aggravation. Mick didn't even blink. Raised an eyebrow instead, cool and unmoved, and Jax froze to a halt. Turned his anger sideways instead, turned himself to stalk in circles around the room. Rip leaned in against a wall out of the way. Jax faltered a little, faltered as a lot of the evening so far seemed to catch up with him, and managed to offer Rip a vague grimace of apology in the midst of his staring terror.

Rip moved forward at that, couldn't help himself, and steered Jax gently backwards into the chair. He went over to the liquor cabinet next, fetched the man a glass of a different, more numbing sort of fire. Jax took it, held it while Rip settled himself against the lip of his desk, but he didn't drink.

"... He did it on purpose," he said quietly, knowing Rip would know what he meant even if Mick didn't. "I told you back there. He made 'em go for him on purpose. He tried to make it so I wouldn't have to feel it, or at least not so much. He did that ... He locked himself down inside his head, so I'd just feel the physical stuff and not ... not how scared he was. Not how hurt and scared and ..."

"... _Shit_ ," Mick said, repressively and almost mildly. He unfolded his arms, scrubbed one hand across his face. "Aw shit. Yeah, okay. Know the feeling, kid. Ain't fun. Can see why you might want to punch him one, yeah."

Jax shook his head violently, his fingers squealing as he closed them tightly around the glass. "I don't want to hurt him!" he snarled. "That's not ... I don't ever want to hurt him. I just want him to _stop_. I just want him ... I just want him to let it be _me_. One time. I wanna get hurt for him and not the other way around. Or, you know, neither of us get hurt at all. But if we've gotta, just once I want him to back off and let me take a hit. He gets ... shit, you know how many times he's been tortured? This makes three. He's almost died like six times since I've known him. I've almost died like _once_ , maybe twice, and then he turned around and almost got himself killed trying to fix those as well. Why can't he just--"

He cut off, lifted his arm violently and helplessly, and then shoved the glass up towards his face instead of throwing it. He took a violent gulp, near defiantly, and then scrunched his eyes up and made an appalling face immediately afterwards. Rip twitched towards him, half saw Mick do the same, though both of them subsided when Jax coughed and rested the hand with the glass back down by his side. 

"... I just want him to stop," he said tiredly. Leaning back against the back of the chair, his head drooping exhaustedly to one side. "Why can't he just stop and let it be me? Just once. Why can't he just let it be me, just _once_?"

... Because you're the most innocent of us, Rip thought silently to himself. You and Ray, maybe. And there's none of us, not a single one, who would ever willingly allow you to be hurt first. Rip had, once. Out of his own selfishness and his need to save his family, he'd put Jax in a position to ... to end up almost dead, and he was never, _ever_ going to allow anything like it again. None of them would, and Martin ... 

What would it be like, to actually _feel_ someone's pain, and know it was happening because of you? What would it be like to feel someone else's pain as your own, and know you couldn't stop it? And Martin had lost one partner already. There was no force in this _universe_ would convince him to stand by and let another one be harmed.

But that ... that cut both ways, didn't it? That bond went both ways. Which was worse, the physical hurt or the empathic? Looking at Jax now, the shaking, exhausted curl of him, Rip honestly wasn't sure, and he wasn't sure Martin would be either. Maybe ... maybe when you shared that much with someone, when you were bound that tight, there just wasn't any way to keep them from being hurt alongside you. The only thing you could do was ... trade which person ended up with what kind of pain. And if that _was_ true, then maybe, as terrible an idea as it was ... maybe they actually should _trade_ pains. To keep each other from being worn to pieces by the weight of either one.

Or, you know. They could try to _stay out of trouble_ , either. The team could try and keep each other safe. Because Jax wasn't alone. Rip couldn't keep doing this either. They needed to stop getting hurt. All of them. They needed to ... to sit _still_ and not get caught and not get hurt and not get _killed_. He'd had enough of that. This was why Time Masters didn't work in teams. It was ... exhausting, and distracting, and _heart-wrenching_ , and ...

And more than he could ever hope to give up. More than he could ever hope to live without again. But. Still. They really, truly, needed to be _more careful_. And Martin, oh, Martin very much not least of all.

Rip exhaled. Let it sigh out, a long, shuddering breath as he came to a decision and felt the tangled nerves of the rescue attempt start to unwind in response. He shook his head, rubbed a hand across his face, and then reached over carefully. Leaned down, took the glass gently out of Jax's hand. The kid looked up at him, all his anger gone and only worry and tired, sad pain left behind. Rip grimaced at him faintly. He clutched the half-empty glass in one hand and rested the other on Jax's arm for just a moment.

"I'll talk to him when he wakes up," he promised quietly. "And he will. He will wake up, Jax. Gideon will fix him up right as rain, and when he wakes up ... I'll talk to him for you. I realise I don't exactly have the most authority here, captain or no captain, but I will try and convince him to ... to ease back a little. To listen to you more. I know he doesn't want to hurt you, physically or otherwise. I think he might listen if only to ease your worries."

Jax snorted faintly, tired and bitter after what he'd been through, but he didn't actually disagree. Even now, even as residually angry with Martin as he was, he didn't disagree with that. He knew Martin would never want to hurt him either. He forgave him his sins as easily as breathing. Maybe it was like that, when your partner was a part of your soul.

No. No, it _was_ like that. Rip remembered that. He and Miranda might never have had an empathic connection, the ability to carry each other inside their skin, but Rip did remember that. He knew what it was like to love someone enough to forgive them almost anything.

"Thanks Rip," Jax said softly. "Sorry. I know I've been ... I haven't been thinking straight. I just had to get him out of there. I'm sorry for ... for flying off the handle at you earlier. All of you. You were just trying to help, and you didn't deserve it. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it, kid," Mick spoke up, from where he'd been standing silently and watching them. Jax blinked at him, startled, and Mick shrugged carefully. "He's your partner. You had to get him outta trouble. That's the way it is. Nobody's gonna knock you for that."

Which ... Some part of Rip had started to argue with that, some part of him wanted to say that almost burning a prison down around their ears might well have earned Jax some offense, but then that part had trailed to a silent stop. Because ... it hadn't. Wouldn't. None of them _would_ knock him for it. They'd have beaten a hasty, frantic retreat, himself and Ray, but they wouldn't have held it against Jax afterwards. They'd seen ... they'd seen Martin, what had been done to him. Provided they could have survived it, they wouldn't have begrudged Jax a nuclear detonation at that point. Martin was ... Martin was _team_ , he was family. Anyone who did that to him was perfectly welcome to stare down all of Firestorm's wrath if they wanted to, just so long as the rest of the team might have a moment first to get out of the line of fire.

And you know, after all they'd been through, maybe Rip was at the point where he was happy enough to _say_ so.

"... Mr Rory is right," he said after a moment, taking some small grief and some small pleasure at Mick's faint stir of startlement. Rip looked away from that. He looked down at Jax instead, and managed something not too far from a smile. "You were trying to keep Martin safe, to avenge him. I don't think any of us will begrudge you that. All is forgiven, Mr Jackson. If indeed there was anything to forgive."

Jax blinked at him a bit for that. Not in confusion, but out of an attempt not to cry. Which was ... reasonable, yes, he'd had a very long and emotional few days, but also rather more than Rip could deal with right now. Jax seemed to recognise that, though. He shook his head, reached up and swiped the ball of his thumb beneath his eyes. 

"Thanks man," he said, relatively calmly. "I really am sorry, but thanks. You, um. You mind if I crash here for a while? I just ... I just need to rest a bit. You don't mind?"

Rip raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure you'll be comfortable, but go ahead. If you and Mr Rory want to stay here for a while, I'll ... head down and check on Martin. I'll be back and let you know once I know what's going on?"

Jax nodded exhaustedly. "He's not dead," he offered wryly. "He's still out of it and he's not dead. But yeah, once you know more than that, I'd be grateful. Stupid son of a bitch is in bits, I know that. You'll come back and let me know how many he'll have to stay in?"

Rip clenched his jaw slightly. "The Waverider has the facilities to fix almost any physical trauma short of death," he said fiercely. "We _will_ fix Martin, Jax. He's not going to be happy or comfortable for a while, but we will fix him. And once we have ... we will find out how they knew to take you, and why they wanted to hurt you. We will find out who they are and what they know, and then we will give them a very, very good reason to _un_ know it again. You have my word on that. Getting Martin to safety had to be our priority. Now that he _is_ safe, I assure you, I am not the least averse to a dose of preventative vengeance."

He had watched one family die already. He'd failed to save them, and been forced to only avenge them after the fact. This team, this new family, what was left of them, Rip was more than happy to get the vengeance in first, and keep the necessity of saving them until late or never.

Which wasn't perhaps an entirely comforting assurance, to judge by Jax's startled expression now that he'd calmed down enough not to be easy with homicidal urges any longer, but Rip did allow himself the faintest twinge of pride at the rather approving look on Mick Rory's face. He might disagree with the arsonist on a great many things, Rip thought, but in this one matter they looked to be perfectly in line.

All right, he thought. That was all right. It only remained to see to Martin now.

\---

It took Martin the better part of a day and a half to wake back up. That had been expected really. That kind of damage, the sheer amount of it, took some time to put back together. They actually had taken the leg and regrown it. One of the kidneys too, and internal organs tended to be trickier. The lungs had been mostly all right once they were drained and the ribs taken care of. There had ... there had been such a sheer amount of damage. Purposefully inflicted. Rip hadn't been the only one to decide that someone would soon have to pay for that. It had been a silent and more or less unanimous decision, as far as he could tell. Jax and Ray were the most hesitant, now that the heat of the moment had passed, but Rip doubted they'd hesitate long if actually faced with Martin torturers. Mick and Sara ...

She'd caught his arm as they traded places for the watch. They'd been taking turns to sit with Martin or Jax, the four of them. Sara'd caught him as he came in to sit with Martin and free her up to get some rest.

"I'll be on the bridge with Gideon," she'd told him quietly. "We're going to be looking up some things. Mick and I got some idea of what they might have been doing when we broke in there. They had a stockpile of weapons, that's what went up so big. It shouldn't be too hard to track who was buying that kind of armoury in this time period. I know we're going to go back and blow the facility itself sky high, but we're going to need to know who gave them their information too. Who's hunting us, who was running them. Gideon and I are going to start work on that."

Rip had blinked at that, answered carefully. "Shouldn't you get some rest first?" he'd asked quietly. "We do have a couple of days, Martin won't be up and about for a while yet." But Sara'd only looked at him.

"I've seen enough people die," she'd said, hard and quiet and not quite accusing. "I've lost enough people, Rip. I am sick of not doing anything about it. They almost killed the Professor in there. If you don't mind, I'm going to go work on killing them back."

... So yes, Rip thought, a little later. A unanimous decision, yes. This was not, apparently, anything any one of them was going to let go.

Except perhaps one, he thought, watching Martin finally stir and start the slow climb back up to the land of the living. He wasn't sure how Martin was going to react yet. He'd been emphatic enough inside the prison to override Jax's fury, but that might only have been trying to keep Jax himself safe, to get him out of danger and keep him from doing anything rash. Which was mildly-to-majorly hypocritical of him, but howandever. It was more than possible that Martin had only refrained from burning the entire place to the ground out of pain and an instinctive, automatic need to keep his partner and his teammates safe. Rip remembered listening in as Jax, Snart and Sara had saved Martin from Dr Vostok in '86. Martin had seemed perfectly happy to stand by and watch his torturer go critical then. Perhaps he wouldn't be averse to it this time either.

That wasn't the first order of business, though. That could wait a couple of days. There was something else to deal with first. Rip had promised. He leaned forward, watched as Martin slowly and blearily opened his eyes, tested himself automatically for pain. He felt that surge again, that distant, desperate need not to have to watch that, not to see his friend hurt. The need to keep them safe, the angry, desperate desire to have them _sit down_ and stay safe and not get captured and _not die_. This one not least of all. Martin. This stubborn, aggravating ... terribly important friend.

"... Hey," he said, leaning over so Martin could turn his head slightly and see him. Martin somehow managed a smile. Rip rather helplessly returned it. "You're on the Waverider. I'm not sure how much you remember, but you almost got yourself killed again. I should probably give you fair warning, there are a number of people who'd like to talk to you about that ..."

Honestly. This was why ex-Time Masters didn't have teams. They were _exhausting_.


	2. Reconciliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rip, somewhat without leave, witnesses Martin and Jax have that much-needed conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reiterating the warning for id-fic and all its attendant schmoop -_-;

Ironically, one of the first true signs of Martin's healing, the indication that he'd transitioned from medicated unconsciousness to proper sleep, was the nightmare. 

They'd kept him in the MedBay a while longer after he'd first woken up, letting his body acclimatise to its new additions. An arm was one thing, even a leg, but internal organs were a great deal trickier, and neither Rip nor Gideon were much inclined to take chances. Neither were much of anyone else, come to that. So Martin had stayed a while longer. And Rip ... Rip, by virtue, had been granted a front-row seat to the aftermath of torture.

It wasn't a particularly obvious nightmare. It hadn't been, anyway. That was why it had taken Rip a few minutes to realise what was happening. Martin wasn't a particularly expressive dreamer. He wasn't a particularly expressive torture victim either, and thank you, thank you _so much_ for that thought. Rip had really needed that right now. Martin wouldn't wake up. For five minutes now he wouldn't. No amount of coaxing would pull him out of it, and Rip ... wasn't quite able to resort to more violent means just yet. Of all people to have to slap across the face, a recently-tortured Martin Stein was _not_ his first choice.

But then, fortunately, someone arrived so he wouldn't have to. Jax. Jax came staggering into the MedBay, looking more than half asleep himself, and lurched over to Martin's side, shoving Rip carelessly out of the way in the process. Not that Rip minded too much. He was more than happy to pass this particular responsibility onwards, thank you.

Though he didn't ... he didn't leave. Not yet. Forgive him the intrusion, but between curiosity and concern he couldn't manage that just yet. He retreated enough not to draw attention. But he didn't _quite_ remove himself.

"Grey! Grey, come on. Come out of there. Come on, Grey, come back to me."

It was ... much too reminiscent of the cell. The whole scene. Jax's hands gravitated unerringly to Martin's face, cupping around it as he tried to call his partner back from whatever place he'd gotten lost in inside his head, and the picture was far, far too close to ... to what had come before for Rip's comfort. Or Jax's either, he supposed. He swallowed silently, watching them, and curled his hands into fists. Jax was oblivious. He was curled down too tight across his partner, trying to pull him back out by sheer force of emotion.

And it worked. It did work. But not entirely as they might have wanted it to. It seemed the scene was reminiscent to more than just Rip. A golden light showed around Martin, the first stage of the Firestorm merging, as his mind apparently went right back to that cell as well.

Jax ... refused him. Must have done, because the light spluttered back out again, and Martin in response to it came surging back to consciousness the old fashioned way. He opened his eyes, bleary and frightened and confused, his hands fumbling upwards to try and figure out what was going on. Jax caught them one-handed, his other hand still cupped at Martin's temple. He leaned forward, did his best to catch Martin's bewildered eyes.

"Hey, hey no, it's okay. It's all right, Grey. We're not there, it's all right. You were having a dream, man. It's okay. We're on the Waverider. It's okay."

Martin swallowed, seemed to forcibly calm himself. Intellect coming online, deliberately crushing down the unreasoning panic. His eyes skipped briefly around the room, cataloguing it, reassuring himself that Jax's claim was indeed correct. Rip flinched briefly as they skipped across him, but Martin didn't seem to pay him any particular attention. That was ... almost flattering, really. That Rip was enough of a familiar feature not to cause concern. That his presence was unobtrusive enough to not even really be registered.

"Jef-- Jefferson," Martin managed, licking his lips as the dehydration of sleep and terror caused him some minor problems. "Where are-- No, no the Waverider. I'm sorry. What happened?"

Jax shook his head, leaning back a bit but keeping hold of his hands. "You had a nightmare, Grey," he repeated gently. "We're just back, we got you put back together. You're okay. You just had a nightmare, that was all."

Martin blinked at him. Confusedly still, slightly panicked, trying to put things back together in his head. He glanced down a bit, at their hands. He frowned. "Did I ..." he started carefully. "Did we ... did I try to merge? Just now. Did I try to merge?"

Jax grimaced. "Yeah," he said softly. "It's okay. I get it, I was stuck there for a bit too. It's okay, Grey. I was gonna ... I woulda let you, but Gideon's trying to keep an eye on you, make sure you're all put together okay, and I figured you getting poured in and poured out again would upset that. I woulda let you otherwise. I was ... I was gonna let you."

Something cracked a bit in his voice. Rip knew what it was. A memory of having pulled Martin in the first time, drawn him in to keep him safe. A memory of having poured Martin back _out_ , a memory of Martin promptly almost dying immediately afterwards. Yes, he thought distantly. Yes, he would bet Jax had wanted to let him in again. He would lay good odds that the young man would cheerfully have pulled Martin into himself and kept him there until he could be perfectly, absolutely _sure_ that his partner would be safe.

Which would, Rip couldn't help but think, be a very, very long time. Knowing Martin as he did, Jax would have to hold him for a long, long time to keep him safe.

Martin seemed to sense something of that. Or see it. He heard the crack in Jax's voice, tugged a hand free to reach up and grip his arm because of it. "Jefferson?" he asked carefully. "Jefferson, I'm ... I'm sorry. I'm all right. I was just ... confused, it's all right. I'm perfectly fine."

Jax snorted violently, enough that Martin almost flinched in startlement. "You are in your _dreams_ fine," he growled, face twisting a bit as his brain caught up with his mouth. "Hell, not even then. Just saw that. Grey, we're just out of that place, you are not seriously gonna pretend to me it didn't happen right now. Okay? You're not fine. I'm not fine, and you are _definitely_ not fine. You just admit that, okay? Just for me. You admit that."

Martin blinked very, _very_ carefully at him. Rip didn't have their connection, he couldn't feel what either of them were feeling, but wary alarm wasn't that hard to discern. Martin looked more than half terrified, and now for another reason entirely. To be fair, Rip had warned him. He had told him just how badly his partner had been affected by all this. Perhaps it was a slightly vindictive thought, but Rip was nearly glad to see him witness the evidence of it.

"... All right," Martin said at least, very cautiously, his voice dry and crushed still from the nightmare. "All right. I'm not fine. I've just ... I've just had an unwilling nocturnal repeat of something I would cheerfully never endure again, something which is not nearly distant enough in my memory. I'm not all right. And, quite clearly, neither are you."

He put a question into that, very nearly a demand, and Jax sat down abruptly beside him. Fairly collapsed, into the chair Rip had only recently vacated, and just sat there holding Martin's hand for a long, exhausted minute. Martin watched him carefully. For a man literally just pulled from his own nightmare, it seemed all his concern was now purely for his partner. Which was the problem, really. Which was rather the root of this little scene, which Rip should not be witnessing, and which Rip could not quite draw himself away from.

"... You shoulda let it be me," Jax managed eventually, grabbing and squeezing Martin's hand tightly to forestall his objection. "No, _listen_ to me, Grey. You can't keep doing this, man. You can't keep dying on me. You gotta let me take some of the hits. You nearly didn't make it. Okay? We were nearly too late. You can't keep letting that happen."

And Rip ... Rip _had_ warned Martin. He'd warned him of the nature of Jax's protest, and Martin had actually listened. Rip could see that, now. He could see it because Martin had clearly already had an answer for this prepared.

"It has to be me," he said softly, tightening his hand in his partner's, ignoring the gentle, desperate shaking of Jax's head. "Jefferson, Jefferson you have to listen. It has to be me. I'm not just saying that. This isn't ... I know you think this is just because of Ronald, but it isn't. Or at least, not entirely. It _has_ to be me. You're the physical component, Jefferson. You're Firestorm's body. You _have_ to stay alive, and you _have_ to remain as undamaged as I can keep you. We ... We would never have escaped otherwise. You're the one we have to keep physically safe, and not ... not only because if you die we both do. I'm sorry. It isn't fair. I know it isn't fair. It just ... it has to be me. I'm so sorry. I really am."

Jax closed his eyes at that. Rip quite nearly followed him. Jax closed his eyes and pressed his lips so tight the blood ran out of them. He didn't make a noise. His tears were entirely silent. Martin fumbled helplessly at his hand, squeezed it as though that could possibly stem the tide. He didn't say anything. He just let that settle, like a stone, between them.

"... It's not fair," Jax whispered. Opening his eyes, looking at Martin, their hands quivering with the force of it. "It ain't fair. It shouldn't work like that. It shouldn't have to be like that."

Martin flinched, grimaced in acknowledgement of that. "I know," he said. Flatly, edged a little in despair. "I know it shouldn't, Jefferson. It isn't fair to either of us, and especially not to you. I didn't ... I wouldn't have asked ... I _promise_ you I never meant for anything like this--"

Jax cut him off. Low and fierce and terrible, almost exactly as he'd been in that cell. The Firestorm that had emerged from that place. Jax carried that same aspect now. He turned towards Martin entirely, tugged their hands up against his chest, and cut that staggered apology down where it stood.

"Shut up," he said quietly. "Don't you dare. Don't you _dare_ , Grey. I don't ... I didn't mean to _me_. I didn't mean unfair to me. I _signed up_ for this, remember? I made a choice, I signed on. I did that. And okay, maybe I didn't entirely get what it would mean until after. This ain't exactly the kind of shit you're gonna get until you're part of it. But I made a choice. I did that, I _got_ to do that. You ... you didn't. Sometimes I wonder if you even remember that. This ain't on you. You didn't sign up for this."

Martin blinked. Fumbled. This part he hadn't prepared for, hadn't even seen coming. To be fair, Rip hadn't either. But then, Jax seemed to know a few things he didn't.

"... I'm the one we gotta keep safe," Jax repeated carefully. Bitterly. So very, very bitterly. "'Cause if I die, we both do. If I die I take you with me. And you didn't ask for that. The only reason you're attached to me in the first place is because _Ronnie_ died, and Ronnie almost took you with him. You didn't get a choice, Grey. You either came along with me or you let yourself die. Or, you know, you let the crazy man who tore up a stadium 'cause he was pissed at you have you either. You never had a choice about this. But _I'm_ the one we gotta keep safe. Fuck's sake, Grey! You thought I meant it's unfair to _me_?"

Martin stared at him. Silent, stunned, his lips parted slightly in his bewilderment. He didn't have an answer to that. For an endless minute, he didn't have an answer. Rip watched them with a strange, burning sort of feeling in his chest. He didn't have an answer either.

But Martin ... Martin wouldn't leave himself without an answer long. Of course, of course he wouldn't. Martin was _never_ speechless for long, nor ever less than determined either.

"... I would never have chosen differently," he said quietly. With something in his voice, something so firm and implacable that both of them took notice. Rip and Jax. Both of them reeled forward helplessly towards it. It was Jax that Martin spoke to, however. It was Jax he needed to hear. "I swear to you, Jefferson. I would never have chosen anything else. That was what ... That was why this was always so selfish of me. Ronald and I, we didn't have a choice, but after him ... I wanted it back. Not just him. I wanted Firestorm back. Even with all the ... the pain and difficulty it caused, even though it had cost Ronald his life, I wanted it anyway. To ... to do things, to be _able_ to do things. To be what we are, you and I. I wanted it. I still do. Even ... even knowing that it hurts us both so badly. I'm a selfish old man, you see. I can't help but want to be powerful. I'm so sorry."

Jax tipped his head back. Looked up at the ceiling while he struggled fruitlessly with his emotions. His fingers kept tangling with Martin's, fretting and turning and gripping them anew. Holding them tightly. Refusing to let them go. 

"... It ain't power," Jax said at last. Not looking at his partner, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling. Martin stared silently up at him. "The thing you want, it ain't power. All this time, I know you better than that. Sometimes I think I know you better than _you_. You don't want to be powerful. You want to be out here, that's all. You want to see things and know things and help people. You just want to be strong so you can do that better. It's ... Maybe it's why we match so well, huh? You and me. 'Cause we want ... we want the same things a lot of the time. We got a lot of wants in common."

He looked down then. He looked back at Martin, a wry, battered sort of smile on his face, small and real and earnest beside the tear tracks. Martin smiled helplessly back at him. He made a noise, a tiny thing, his eyes equally and suspiciously bright. Rip had never felt more like a voyeur in all his life.

"... You know I never wanted to hurt you," Martin asked carefully. "Or cause you to be hurt, either. I know this ... things like this, I know they're hard. And they're not fair. And neither of us can change that. Firestorm isn't ... it isn't always kind. But I never wanted to hurt you. I never particularly wanted to _be_ hurt either."

"I know," Jax said. He did, he meant it. He pressed his lips together and nodded, and Rip could see he honestly meant it. "I know, I know you didn't ask for this. I know that, Grey. And I get it, it's ... it's okay. I get it, I can live with it. I'm gonna have to, and I will. I just ..." He paused, and half reached up to touch his hand to his partner's face again, before bringing it down to his shoulder instead. "You just gotta make me a promise, okay? What happened back there, what just happened ... That thing you did, goin' away in your head. You don't do that again, okay? This happens again ... It ain't gonna, but if it does, you gotta let me be there. You can't pull away from me, you can't try to hide. If I don't get to take the hit, you gotta let me help you take it instead. I'm not doing that again. I'm not sitting there knowing what's happening to you and doing _nothing_ all over again. Next time, you let me help, okay? You stay with me, and you let me help. You promise me that. Please. I need you to promise me."

Martin hesitated a second. Wet his lips carefully. "You know they wanted a reaction," he said. "They wanted proof it went both ways. It would have gotten you ... gotten us _both_ ..."

"I don't mean at the start," Jax said hastily. "I know, I know. We do what we gotta do first. But after that. I'll work on it, I promise, I won't give anything away. But you gotta let me in. You gotta let me be there. I can't feel you fade like that again."

And there was grief in that, there was terror, enough that Rip could hear it let alone Martin feel it, and Martin surrendered finally in the face of it. Martin slumped, his entire body, and visibly surrendered to the necessity of it. "I promise," he said softly. "You won't ... It won't be pleasant, my boy. You won't enjoy what you find in there. But I promise."

Jax gave him a strained little smile. "I don't give two shits how bad it is," he said, entirely honestly. "I promise you I spent more than enough time imagining it back there. Whatever was inside your head for real can't be worse than that. Not knowing, not being able to reach you. Nothin' in the world could be worse than that. I'm not gonna hurt you for it, Grey. I'm not gonna climb in there and knock you for being scared. I just wanna be able to help."

Martin closed his eyes, nodded faintly. "I know," he said, twitching a bit in shame. "I didn't think ... I do know that, Jefferson. I suppose I'm just ... Some things you're just not particularly keen for other people to see. But you're right. And ... and I promise. I won't pull away from you. I promise."

And at that point, that tiny slump of weariness and acceptance, the mention of things that other people weren't supposed to see, Rip finally remembered himself. There was voyeuristic and there was ... there was something close indecent. Some things weren't for other people to see. Yes, thank you. He did remember that. A little late, perhaps, but he did.

It wasn't Martin that glanced towards him as he left. Rip was faintly surprised by that. He hadn't thought that Jax had noticed him failing to do so earlier. There was no surprise in the young man's face, though. Just ... forgiveness, maybe, and possibly something close to gratitude. 

And that ... with the memory of a cell, that was nearly too much to bear. But ... but it was granted now, it was done, and nothing left to do but earn it.

So. Let's see how far Sara had gotten towards tracking the bastards down, shall we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how much more of this, if any, there's going to be, but Martin and Jax really, really needed to have that conversation. Or indeed _any_ conversation. So, um. Voila? *grins sheepishly*

**Author's Note:**

> I swear, it's not that I actually _like_ hurting Martin, it's just ... he hurts really well, and my id just likes people banding around to protect him -_-; Also, I have no medical knowledge whatsoever, so I apologise if I just basically killed him three times over without realising it.


End file.
